Decadent Elders (Day 273)

decadent elders tucked 

  away 

in black cashmere 

     ghostly 

clouds of smoke 

and silken shame 

       swirl  

excuses ugly 

in their chests none but 

the youngest 

meet the eye 

          glimmer 

of voices cherished 

      proclaim 

sparkling raised 

   to block 

the noonday sun 

     without 

that special something fun  

   you just can’t live 

so generously 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: The End of Dinner, 1913, Jules-Alexandre Grün

A fan, a violin... (Day 167)

A fan, a violin, a ticket 

on a swaying train,

waiting like some self-satisfied 

grande dame enshrouded 

by her veil of steam. Wheels 

sing on cobblestone streets, but 

in the sprawling park, duets walk 

and listen appreciatively 

to a handsome mockingbird. 

Summer sulks, and whispers in 

equatorial tones, painted in red 

dust and canopied windows, 

behind which translucent ladies fan 

themselves and pretend not 

to sweat. The men, dangling 

cigarettes in a darkened library, 

admit nothing to their wives—mere 

trophies or, at best, beloved pets—

whose delicate natures, their men 

believe, could not tolerate the harsh 

daylight glare of their midnight 

mistresses. Falsehoods, fraught 

with thorns and slickly oiled, flare 

like matches, only to burn out 

and leave behind only untrustworthy 

images in their wake.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Vintage photo: Afternoon Tea, Bombay 1897